P is for Promise
by sapphire blue-ruby red roses
Summary: America is dying of boredom when a teen looking strikingly familiar to him bursts through the doors. Who is the teen, and why does he look like America?


**This is the third story in a challenge I've bestowed on myself where I have to decide on a prompt for each letter of the alphabet and then write a story/one-shot for each letter, hence the title. The first story is called "C is for Change".**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor will I ever**

**Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors that I may not have caught.**

P is for Promise

America drummed his pencil against the table agitatedly, boredom making quick work his brain cells. World meetings were never any fun to begin with and were even less when they were actually productive. Today's meeting was one of those rare productive ones where everyone got along and no one started a shouting match or tried to rip each other's throats out. He was seriously considering starting a fight with Russia or England just for the entertainment value. He was leaning more towards a fight with Russia though seeing as he would gain some awesome hate/makeup sex out off of it later.

He was just getting ready to put his plan, which consisted of jumping from his seat and make some obscene reference or joke about Russia's history, into action when the double doors burst open. A teen of around sixteen stormed into the room. He had perfectly tanned skin and dirty blonde hair possessing so much light brown hair that it would be brown when wet. His eyes were storm grey with flecks of vibrant sky blue. Something seemed awfully familiar about the kid, but no one could put their finger on what was precisely familiar.

The teen's conviction quickly deflated as he glanced from nation to nation, always returning to America. He covered up his lack of conviction with a look of confidence. "Sorry for the disturbance. I was looking for someone and was told he'd be here, but I was under the impression that he'd be alone. I'll come back another time." His voice was strong, carrying across the room clearly, not a tremor in the baritone. He began closing the door only to be stopped, surprisingly, by England.

England, as well as a curious France, had an idea of who the child may have been.

"One moment, lad. What's your name? Who are you looking for?" he asked, standing from his chair.

The teen stepped back into the room, his shoulders thrown back under the heavy leather bomber jacket that he wore. "My name is Will Black-Jo-" He cut himself off, frowning to himself. "Will Black, Mr. Kirkland, sir. Er, Mr. England, um…"

"Just England is fine," England said, saving Will from more embarrassment.

"Yes, sir. I came here in search of Mr. America." He glanced toward a surprised America, seeing the confusion of the rest of the nations in his periphery vision.

England's eyebrows joined forces to create one large hairy caterpillar across his brow. "What would you need with him?"

Will hesitated. "Sir, not to be disrespectful, but the reason I am looking for Mr. America is a private family matter that I do not wish to disclose to anyone but Mr. America."

"Jeune homme, why are you talking so formally? We are all friends here. There's no need to talk like that," France said, grinning at the teen. He swirled a glass of red wine cupped in his hand.

"Where did you get that?" Germany snapped, his patients waning, "Alcohol is not permitted at the meeting!"

"Oh, but it's such good wine, Germany. Try some!" Italy offered, grinning and holding out his glass to the German.

Germany sighed. He really didn't want to know how or when the wine had gotten passed around. He took quick notice that nearly every other nation besides himself and America also held glasses of the blood red liquid in their hand. Even Russia who was notorious for drinking only high grade vodka, had his own glass.

"To be frank, Mr. France, I am not your friend nor am I the friend of anyone else in this room. My mother may have been, but not me. Sorry to disappoint you and whatever..." Will gestured towards France's ensemble. "This is." He, of course, didn't sound sorry in the least. He sounded sarcastic.

America snorted. "That was good kid. I'll talk to ya' just for that comment," he said, jumping from his seat, "Not like I wanted to be here anyway. Now how old are you?"

The pair grinned almost identical smiles at the look on nearly all of the nations' faces. The outraged looks were the best, if the pair had to choose.

"What? How can you not want to be best friends with the awesome me?" Prussia shouted, jumping from his seat.

"Because I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Prussia, **a lot** about you and I have no wish to make friends with the likes of you." Will smiled too sweetly, turning his back on the nations and heading for the door.

America trailed after Will, laughing to himself. Before they made it out the door, Russia yelled after him, "Don't think of cheating on me, Alfred. You know what will happen."

Rolling his eyes, America called over his shoulder, "One, he's like fourteen. Two, we are not in a monogamous relationship. We are simply meal tickets for each other!" He waved over his shoulder, slamming the door behind him.

Will looked at him curiously. "So you're… gay?"

America shrugged. "Technically, I'm bisexual, but I guess I'm more gay than straight because I sleep with men more often than I do women."

"Why is that?"

"Because there are more male nations than female nations."

"Do you ever sleep with the female nations?" Will thought back, trying to remember how many female nations he'd seen sitting around the table. He'd counted less than ten.

"Of course, when Russia isn't being a jealous little shit."

"Can I ask which ones?"

America grinned over at Will. "You really are a teenager, aren't you? Despite all the formal talk, huh. I'm physically nineteen myself, so I understand feeling."

Will nodded, watching America closely. "I'm sixteen, so…"

America nodded in appreciation of youth. "Alright, so let me think. I've gotten together with Hungary -once when we were really drunk-, Taiwan a couple times, Belgium once or twice, Seychelles more than a couple times to France's dismay. What can I say, the French are just animals in bed." He shrugged, grinning, and Will laughed. "I usually get together with Belarus though. That's really it. I won't touch someone as young as Lichtenstein. Plus, she's rolling with Switzerland, and he literally shoots anyone in the ass who gets close to her." He shivered just thinking of bringing Switzerland's wrath down on himself. Sure, he'd be able to take him, but it'd be one hell of a fight. "And just no to Ukraine, Vietnam, or Wy. She's the little micro-nation out at Australia's place."

Will stared at him in surprise. "That's really not a lot. I thought there'd at least be a few more."

"No, not really. There're very few female nations," America replied, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his dress uniforms that his boss had forced him into this time around, "Don't ask me why."

"Do you ever sleep with people who aren't nations?" Will asked hesitantly, keeping his eyes glued to his shoes.

America pursed his lips, squinting as they exited the building into the bright sun showering over Paris. He slipped on the dark tinted glasses that could were so dark they could hide his eyes. "Occasionally, but I don't like getting close to people."

Will looked over at him curiously, his face open and child-like. "Why?"

"They die," he said simply. They walked in tense silence for a moment. If America could, he'd kick himself in the ass for the comment. "Sorry. I forget that I have to tread lightly when talking to normal people."

"No, no, I like honesty. I like to know everything I can," Will replied, voice strained as his eyes searched for anything other than America to look at. Silence fell around the two once more becoming more uncomfortable with every step.

"So, um, why did you come looking for me?" America asked once he'd cleared his throat.

"Oh, right. Well, I've come to ask a favor of you," Will said, back to his formal way of talking.

"Um, okay, I guess. What's the favor?"

A slow blush crept over Will's face making America only wonder more. He rubbed his hands together, over his arms, and then stuffed them into his back pockets, "Yes, well, my mother, she's dying. She has this rare form of cancer, according to the _experts_, that apparently doesn't respond to modern forms of treatment. Her last wish is to talk to you once more before she goes." He sounded so bitter for a kid of only sixteen.

America frowned. He couldn't remember the last woman he'd talked to that wasn't a nation or a sales woman. "What's your mother's names?"

"November Black."

"Oh!" America shouted. Memories flooded back to him from years and decades before. "I remember her! She was awesome! A real hero! I fought with her for a spell in Afghanistan. We even got to come home together. I always wondered what happened to her…" His voice trailed off as he noticed Will's tense shoulders, thrown back in defiance, and his burning, seething eyes. The clouds in his eyes had completely cleared leaving only brilliant sky blue. His anger was palpable in the air. "What's the matter?"

Will gritted his teeth, but the words spilled from his mouth anyway. "How could you do that to her? She was already sick by then. She loved you, you know that? She still does! She always spoke so highly of you. How could you leave her high and dry like you did?" He glared at the man beside him.

America looked down at the kid in surprise. He wondered why it hadn't occurred to him that the teen was only a couple inches shorter than him. "Look Will, I didn't decide to leave her. If I'd had my way, I would've married her! She was great and a lot of fun, but when my boss gives me an order, no matter how ridiculous, I have to follow it unless it's an endangerment to my people. When my boss tells me I have to focus on work and not have relations with people who aren't nations, I have to follow the order. If I don't, there are very serious repercussions for both of us," he tried to explain, but it only sounded like a very well thought out excuse in his ears. The one time he was actually trying to be serious, it sounded like a lie.

Will frowned bitterly. "That's what Mom said. It just sounds like a pack of excuses and lies to me."

"I'll do it. She was a close friend of mine," America said, running his hands through his hair, "So, which hospital is she at? Man, I hope the staff didn't decide to go on strike or something."

"She's not at a hospital," Will replied matter-of-factly, his stride lengthening and his speed increasing.

America hurried to catch up with the teen, falling into step beside him and matching his stride. "What do you mean she'd not in a hospital? Where is she?" Fear sunk it's teeth clean into his hide.

"At our hotel waiting for you and me."

…..

"Mom, I'm back," Will called softly as he opened the door to the suite. A woman in her mid-thirties sat in a chair by an open window, overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the City of Love. Lights flickered on in the late afternoon light, making the city even more beautiful than it was during the day.

The woman turned with a smile. "Welcome back, honey. I see you've brought a friend with you today. Who is it? As long as it's not France, I'd be happy to meet him." She kept her eyes closed as if she had blinked and just never opened them again.

America took a silent breath and stepped over to the woman. "November, hi. It's nice to see you again. I missed you," he said with a smile. He dropped down beside her placing a gentle hand over hers. Her skin was cold. She felt so frail under his touch.

November's jaw slackened in surprise. "Alfred? Is it really you? How did you find me?" she asked, reaching out a gently hand to stroke his cheek.

America glanced towards the boy on the other side of the room who was constantly sneaking peeks at them from his laptop. "Well, I had some help from an unsuspected source," he murmured to her.

November frowned. She turned towards the clicking of the keys on a keyboard. "William Foster Black-Jones, how dare you defy me. I told you not to go looking for him," she shot at him, "I should wring your neck like a wet towel for this, young man. When I get my hands one you-"

Will flinched, pausing in his typing. Even though he knew his mother was unable to see him, he kept his eyes down in shame. "Sorry Mom, but I figured that since we were all in Paris, and you wanted to see him, I might as well go looking for him. He wasn't hard to find! And it's not like I took him away from anything important that he actually wanted to be doing."

His mother glowered at him. "We'll have a long talk about this later," she warned. He flinched.

"Don't be too hard on him. I'm ecstatic that I can see you again," America said causing her to grin happily.

Her smile slowly fell as the silence wore on. "Alfred, I have to tell you something really important," she whispered into his ear, squeezing his hand gently.

"Okay," he said, grinning.

"Alfred, I need you to be serious," she began sternly before her face dissolved in pain. She pulled her fingers from America's, pressing one hand to her the side of her face where she could press her fingers to her temple and the other to her left eye.

America's grin fell. "November, what's wrong?" he asked, dropped his hand down on her shoulder.

"Mom?" Will called, rushing from his seat to her side. "Mom, what's the matter? Where does it hurt?"

"I'm fine," she assured them, holding her hand away from her face in an attempt to reassure them. She began to cough uncontrollably, dropping her hand to her mouth.

After a moment, and a few more coughs, Will pulled her hand from her mouth. It was splattered in crimson liquid. "Mom!" He ran for one of the suitcases, throwing clothes and bathroom products this way and that. "You haven't taken you medicine for today, or for the day before!"

"I'm fine," she protested, but her words were overtaken by the next round of coughing.

"Mr. America, where's the nearest hospital?" Will asked frantically as his mother went silent, slumping against the window frame.

"I don't know, but I know who does." America rushed from the room, his phone already dialed for the one nation that knew Paris like the back of his hand.

…..

"How is she doing, doctor?" France asked the doctor in their native tongue, standing just outside the door to November's room.

The man, looking official in his white lab coat, glanced back into the room where November's labored breaths filled the small space. He looked back at the three men solemnly. "I'm sorry. The best we can do it make her comfortable. Call her family. I don't believe she'll last for more than an hour." He turned, leaving France to break the news to his English-speaking companions.

"What did he say?" Will asked as the man disappeared around a corner, "Is she going to be alright?"

France sighed, noticing the identical looks of concern he was receiving from the pair. "I'm sorry to tell you that she might not make it through the hour. She will be comfortable, but do you have any more family you can call to come for you?" For once, he put his natural personality on mute, adopting the calm, serious, comforting part of himself that rarely got used.

Will shook his head. "No, it's just the two of us," he said miserably.

"What? Where's your dad?" America asked in surprise and a little anger.

Will gave him a sad look that was not lost on France, his eyes lightning cloud grey. "He left before I was born."

"What? Why?" America shouted, outraged. A nurse from another room poked her head through a door with an irritated look, shushing him.

France turned from the brewing discussion, not wanting to blurt out the truth he'd already discovered. "I believe," he began, his eyes tracing over the woman watching them with clouded storm grey eyes through the glass door, "That is a question for Miss Black to answer." He turned towards the pair, smiling. "Will, why don't we get everyone something to eat while they talk, hm?" He snaked a comforting arm around the younger's shoulders, steering him away.

"Alright," Will agreed half-heartedly. He kept his eyes down, staring at his apparently most interesting shoes as they disappeared down the hall.

America watched them walk away before sliding silently into the room. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, dropping into the chair beside her bed.

"Sad and guilty," she admitted, her eyes closing to the world.

"Why?"

"Because I never told you, and now we can never be a family," she whispered, her breathing becoming more labored by the moment and her strong voice dwindling to nearly nothing.

"What do you mean?" America asked, confusion now his prime emotion.

November inhaled deeply, readying for the shock that was sure to come. "Will… he's your son," she said. Her confession was met with only silence. "Al?" she questioned tentatively after a moment.

His mind was reeling. How the hell was Will his son? The boy was sixteen! How in the world… "Why didn't you tell me? You were already pregnant when I had to end it. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid of what your boss would do to me, and to our baby. I was young. I was scared, and you had told me stories of times in the past with situations like ours," she admitted, opening her sightless eyes to watch him, "I'm so sorry that my poor choice caused you to miss his childhood, but please, don't leave him by himself."

"Don't say that! You'll be here and we can be a family!" he protested, clamping down onto her pale, frail hand as the doctor's diagnosis echoed through his mind.

November's chuckle turned into a round of coughing. "Darling, please, don't delude yourself, it'll hurt more in the end," she choked out, wiping her mouth of the blood that had dribbled down her chin with a shaky hand. The monitor beeped erratically in the background, jumping back and forth between slow to fast.

"But-"

"Just take care of him. Give him a family," she whispered, cutting him off, "He's a good boy. Please. Promise me. Just give me this one last promise."

America sputtered, searching for words, "O-of course I promise. I'll promise you anything and everything-"

She sighed happily before he could even finish, her muscles going slack. The heart monitor flat lined.

"November?" America whispered, his voice shaking with the effort to contain the emotions welling within his chest, "Come on, quit playing. You're fine. You're strong. You can beat this. Come on… Wake up."

A gentle, firm hand fell on his shoulder. France, voice as gentle as his hand, said, "America, she's gone. You can't stay here."

"No, she's not! She can't be!" he shouted at the older nation, pulling against the hands that gripped his shoulders. "Let me go! She can't be dead! She can't be! She can't be!" His struggles slowly dwindled into nothing as the flat tone of her monitor continued, and finally, he just sagged against France in resignation, the tears coming unbidden. He sobbed into the man's bright blue jacket.

The doctor and nurses rushed around the pair, hurrying to attempt resuscitation. After more than ten long fruitless minutes of attempts, the doctor finally shook his head. "November Black pronounced dead at…" he consulted his watch, "11:30 pm on April 1st."

"Mom?" Will whispered, standing in the doorway staring wide-eyed at the scene that had just come to an end before him. "Dad?" He sounded like a child without a thought of what to do. Tears coursed down his face as he watched as the heart monitor was shut off and the sheet pulled over his mother's face. He staggered his way towards the scene, catching himself on Alfred. "Oh god," he whispered, burying his face in America's jacket.

…..

"Dad, hurry up! The meeting is about to start and we still gotta get something to eat!" Will called from the other end of the cemetery, his voice ringing across the silent expanse of grass and headstones, "She'll still be here when it's over. Then we can bring some flowers and her favorite food."

"Yeah, Papa! Come on!" the little girl, Will's daughter of only three years of age despite him only being nineteen, yelled from his shoulders.

"I'm coming!" America shouted back, grumbling about how they were lucky he didn't skip the meeting altogether and just stay here the entire day. He turned back to the grave. "Will has grown up. He's almost as great as a hero as me. Annalease is growing fast. She's adorable." He went quiet as new voices reached him accompanied by the happy squealing of his granddaughter.

"Oh, what a beautiful baby you are. Every time I see you, you get more beautiful," France cooed.

"Grand-Père France! Grand-Père France! Fly! Fly!" the girl shouted.

France obligingly plucked her up and threw her in the air. Her screams of delight were heart-warming.

"Grandpa England! Abuelo Spain! дедушка Russia!" The little girl continued to call out the names of other nations until it seemed as if everyone going to the meeting had been called. She giggled, happy with being passed from person to person.

America swung around, irritated. "What are you all doing here?" he snapped, striding towards them. He didn't take his granddaughter back because she was safe in Italy's clutches. He cooed at her, grinning as wide as she was.

"We were just passing by and wanted to see you," Russia said, dropping a hand and a kiss on his shoulder.

"Uh huh, you all lie, but since you're here, let's get something to eat." America held out his arms to the little girl which she happily catapulted into.

"It's like we're all one big happy family," Italy said.

"Oh, but we are, mon cheri. Isn't that right, America?" France asked, winking at Italy who clamped down on Germany's arm to grin up at him.

Despite himself, America began to grin. "Yeah, I guess we are."

Will smiled brightly, throwing his arms around his father and child. "Yeah, we are," he agreed.

**Well, I hope this was at least slightly good. I kind of liked writing it. Though a lot of the nations were probably OOC. Sorry about that, but I hope you liked it. Tell me how it was, yeah? :D**


End file.
